A Perfect Friend

by Reynolds Price

  The ringmaster beckoned for the elephant to rise. It stood up slowly. At another signal it began to turn like a great clock-hand, almost that slowly. The ringmaster told the crowd that “Sal, as we call her, is our grandest possession. She’s the single remainder of our elephant family, and as you’ve seen we save her for the crowning moment of our show. She comes to us here from the far land of India. She’s twenty-four years old and lives up to her name every day. We call her Sal but her full name is Sala, which means sacred tree. She’s sure been a sacred blessing to us ever since she came to these happy shores. Make her feel welcome in your town, please.”

  From her size and gentleness, Ben had already guessed that Sal was female. And as she stayed on, turning in the ring, he was already wondering what other elephants she might have lost. Had they died or what? Ben tried to catch her eyes through the slight distance that lay between them. If Ben could be sure Sal truly saw him now, he might be able to hear thoughts from her, the way he’d got real help from Hilda.

  But Sal kept turning as the audience clapped a modest welcome. If she saw any single person in the bleachers, she gave no sign of recognition. Then at a final word from the ringmaster, she left the ring at a funny running pace and was out of the tent into darkness too soon.

  A little applause still spattered as she vanished, but Ben was sitting quietly. He was fixing the sight of her body in his mind in case he never saw her again. His heart was still a little fast, and blood was still pumping hot through his head, but really he’d never felt calmer in his life. With all the disappointment he’d had, this latest minute had been almost enough reward to cancel the sadness and fill him with a full set of hopes for life. Again and again he could hear the words of Hilda’s prediction—I’ll be leaving soon but you’ll be fine. Don’t worry; you’ll be happy. He almost believed she’d told him the truth and that he could trust her from here on out.

  After that there was still another half hour of acts, ending with the famous stunt where a tiny automobile drives in and then eighteen normal-sized clowns unpack themselves from inside the car to the wonder of all. Ben watched them patiently, hoping that Sal would come back again and close the show but somehow she didn’t. Even in the final parade, when every other member of the circus trooped by (including the cats in separate cages pulled by horses), there was no sign of Sala; and the ringmaster never mentioned her as he told the crowd “Good night. Come again!”

  Neither did Robin nor even Ben’s father say the word Sala or mention an elephant when they stood to leave. As they all stepped out of the tent into nighttime, Ben took a quick look around. There seemed to be nothing but the same few animal cages on wheels, some clowns undressing, and the scattering crowd. Ben heard several of them mention acts they’d truly enjoyed, but again nobody mentioned Sal and her small part.

  So Ben began to wonder if he’d made it all up, out of pure hot hope. He couldn’t recall doing anything quite that elaborate in his life till now. He still believed that what he’d seen at his bedroom window a few nights ago was really his mother, returned somehow. He understood that he was the kind of person who saw and felt things that he couldn’t mention or people would laugh and think he was crazy. But had this whole circus—or Sal’s part anyhow—been another good dream that wouldn’t last long?

  As they got to the car and the three of them sat close together on the wide seat, Ben decided he’d wait till his father or Robin spoke of the elephant. If they didn’t in the next five minutes, then Ben would know he was in some kind of serious trouble with his mind. His mother had always told him he leaned on hope too hard. He dreamed too much. She’d say “Ben, don’t make so many plans. Life will mostly let you down.”

  Then at the first red light, Mr. Barks said “Why do you two think that poor old elephant did so little work tonight?”

  Somehow it almost made Ben angry. He quickly said “She’s not an old elephant. You heard the man say she’s well under thirty. She might live a century if people treat her right.”

  Robin said “I think she’s bound to be lonesome. She’s got nobody to be with but clowns and a few mangy cats that are halfway asleep. I’d be lonesome too.”

  Ben couldn’t disagree so he sat on quietly as his father drove ahead. To calm himself, he tried to see nothing but the car’s headlights as they lit their fast way through the thick trees.

  At last Mr. Barks said “Benjamin, we thank you for the tickets and the fun.”

  Robin said “Amen.”

  Mr. Barks said “But tell us about that elephant—was Sala her name?”

  Ben knew he’d have to speak now. He couldn’t just sit in silence all the way home and turn the memory over and over for his pleasure. So he said “Sala, yes sir. It means sacred tree. They call her Sal.”

  Mr. Barks said “What’s sacred about an elephant?”

  Ben said “Maybe this one behaves really well. But elephants mostly behave very gently. Still, if you treat an elephant bad—if you beat it or keep it from getting its water and food—then one day it may turn on you like a snake. They’ll throw you to the ground with that mighty trunk; then they’ll kneel down and crush you to pulp with their foreheads. It’s happened in a lot more zoos and circuses than people admit—they keep the news quiet so as not to scare people.”

  Robin said “They crush you to pulp? Boy, I wish you hadn’t told me. I’ll never feel safe around one again.”

  Ben said “That’s half the pleasure of knowing them. Big as they are, they mostly won’t crush you. But you’ve still got to face that risk when you see one. Even tonight, as kind as the Ringoes were, Sal might have got mad for some private reason and squashed them and that dumb ringmaster. Then she might have charged the bleachers and stomped us to jelly.”

  Robin shut her eyes and shuddered hard.

  Mr. Barks said “Don’t exaggerate, son. And don’t blame the ringmaster. He had too much to do, but I thought he handled his job fairly well.”

  “You’re right,” Ben said. “He treated Sal fairly well, considering where they were. I guess I was sorry he told us her story in public like that—her birthplace and losing her family and all. I’ll apologize to him when I get a chance.”

  Robin said “Do you know him?”

  Ben didn’t answer her.

  In a couple of minutes, though, Mr. Barks said “No, Robin, Ben doesn’t know the ringmaster yet. Let’s leave it at that.” He didn’t glance at Ben or say another word, but he’d shown Ben two important things. This father understood a lot about his son, especially why he kept so many secrets; and he wasn’t trying to scare Ben off. If the boy had some plan to visit the circus another time to meet the ringmaster and get to know Sala, it was fine by his father. He trusted him that much.

  And here tonight Ben felt at least some thanks to his father. Robin sat on the seat between them, so Ben leaned forward to his father and gave him a semi-comic salute with his right hand. “Aye aye, sir,” he said. “I’m outward bound.” That was an expression Ben had heard in war movies. He thought it meant that ships had been launched toward enemy bases or submarines were firing torpedoes.

  Ben somehow felt he was truly airborne, on his own wings, and was maybe headed toward his grown life, however far off it might prove to be. And finding a way to know Sala in the coming few days would be the next step. Somehow he would have to manage to know her and to let her know about his love for her—and for her kin all over the world—tonight and forever.

  That same night after they’d stopped for ice cream, dropped Robin off at her house, and then gone home to sleep, Ben had an unusual dream. It wasn’t sad or scary. It was just a plain story, a story that seemed natural and very much like his daily life. He was walking through some woods that at first he didn’t recognize. Then he came to a wide creek with deep fast water, and he knew that these were the woods he and Robin sometimes explored when they acted out movies they’d recently seen. He looked around to see if Robin was lagging behind him, which she mostly was; but there was no sign or s
ound of her. He even called her name and she didn’t answer. So he was alone.

  In the dream Ben sat on the bank of the creek and looked up toward the tops of the trees. After a long quiet wait, with bright sun pouring down on his body, he gradually thought that maybe the world had disappeared. Maybe every other place and person had vanished, leaving him and this creek and these few trees entirely alone, with no friends or family—no wild animals or tame ones either. He thought about that; and it didn’t seem bad, not if the world had disappeared painlessly. For a few quiet minutes, it seemed an excellent way to live. But just as Ben got to the edge of feeling afraid of loneliness, he heard a rustling in the woods beyond the creek.

  In another minute, as the dream rustling changed into thundering footsteps and Ben stood to run if necessary, a creature broke into sight and stopped. It was still more than half concealed in dead leaves and sticks. And it faced him directly—he was clearly its target, whatever it was. For a moment somehow he thought it was Hilda. But if it was Hilda, then she’d grown terribly tall and heavy. At last the creature stepped forward slowly; and though Ben knew this was really a dream, he also knew that this was Sal, the elephant from that night’s show.

  She came on right to the edge of the creek and took long drinks of the clear cold water. To do that she had to suck water up into her trunk, then bring it to her mouth. When she’d finished that Ben spoke to her in a normal voice. “Sal, come on and get me. It’s just us two left alive in the world.”

  She seemed to understand that. She didn’t disagree. Her eyes stayed calm and fixed on Ben. After a moment of silent waiting, she gave him a greeting very different from what she’d offered in the circus. She had no American flag to hold, no humans on her back, no platform for the Ringo twins. What she did was to pull one leg far back and bend that knee. She also lowered her head and looked down. It lasted ten seconds. Then she stood back upright.

  That amounted to what Ben thought was a bow. People in his world had long ago quit bowing seriously to others. In news from Japan, though, Ben had noticed how the Japanese people bowed low to each other and especially to strangers. Right or wrong, he gave Sal a solemn bow in return for hers. Then again he held out a beckoning hand and urged her to cross the deep water toward him. He knew that elephants, and most other mammals, can swim like fish from the moment they’re born.

  But Sal wouldn’t come toward his hand. She plainly meant that Ben should come across to her, wading or swimming. He could swim well enough, and he thought of Hilda’s promise that his meeting with Sal would change his life in excellent ways. But he waited in place, alone on his side.

  At last after what seemed a very long time, Sal lowered herself into the water. Her eyes never moved from Ben’s face, where he stood still waiting.

  Ben suddenly thought he might have made her angry. He knew she could break every bone in his body with two light slaps from her trunk, but Hilda’s promise stayed clear in his mind. Hadn’t she more or less said This thing that’s coming will save your life? He knew the chances were surely even that he’d be dead in another few seconds. But he felt no fear. In fact Ben was smiling when the dream broke off, and he was awake in the dark in his bed again. At first he was sorry the story had ended. But then as he lay looking up to the ceiling, he decided the dream was the final proof of what he’d more than half decided to do tomorrow. He’d go to the fairgrounds and try to find Sal.

  When he’d made that plan, Ben fell back asleep with no more dreams or waking till daybreak.

  Next morning the sky was completely blue. By the time Ben finished his breakfast and walked to Hilda’s shed, the air was warming. He recalled how seldom Hilda had spoken in recent years; but today he thought that Hilda might have some extra thing to tell him, some more advice. While he mixed her food, she kept her thoughts very much to herself; and even while Ben watched himself in her mirror, she stayed silent. So before Ben left he told Hilda what he’d noticed about his face this morning—he looked even older than he had the day before.

  It felt as though he were growing the way plants grow in nature movies, almost too fast. But that didn’t worry him or change his plan. It seemed so important that Ben had to remind himself to pet old Hilda before she took a few brief minutes to roam the yard and smell every tree. He didn’t mention last night, though. He’d wait to see how today turned out. Then he could either tell her good news or just not bother her with any disappointment.

  During lunchtime at school, Dunk brought his two mashed-potato sandwiches and sat by Ben in a shady corner of the loud cafeteria. Ben knew the first question Dunk would ask, but he didn’t try to stop him.

  With his mouth full Dunk said “I hear your whole family went out last night.”

  Ben said “You heard right.”

  Dunk said “I was hoping you felt like I was kin to you.”

  Ben said “You’re my good friend but no, Dunk, we’re not kin.”

  Dunk said “So why didn’t your friend Dunk get invited to the circus with your tiny family?”

  In hopes of sparing his friend’s feelings, Ben told Dunk a lie. “See, Dunk, Dad bought the tickets; and he’s been hard up for money lately.”

  “Ben, I could have paid my own way.” Dunk turned his pants pockets inside out, but they both were empty.

  Ben said “You know we couldn’t ask you to come with us and then make you pay your way. You can go on your own any night it’s still here.”

  Dunk said “Yeah, ‘on my own.’ That’s a whole lot of fun.”

  Ben said “Ask Robin; she’ll gladly go again.”

  Dunk’s sisters were chatterboxes and had left him, for now at least, with very little interest in girls. So he made his comical sour face. “Robin? I’d rather take Phil Campbell, sick as he is.” Phil Campbell was Dunk’s dog, older than Hilda and crazy enough to lunge at almost any moving thing.

  Ben went back to eating his green beans and pork chop. For a while he tried to feel guilty for leaving Dunk out last night, and he was almost on the verge of feeling selfish when Dunk broke in.

  Dunk had tried staying quiet to show he was hurt, but finally he had to ask his main question. “So how was that little bitty run-down flea-bag circus?”

  Ben couldn’t help laughing. Finally he said “You got it! It was very little bitty and mighty run-down.”

  Dunk said “And that one pitiful pachyderm should have been in the elephant’s graveyard—right?”

  Ben wondered if Dunk hadn’t somehow also been at the circus the previous night. “By any chance were you hiding in the bleachers?”

  It was Dunk’s turn to laugh; he doubled over and chuckled longer than was necessary. When he’d got himself calm, he shut his eyes dramatically and said “Ah, you know me—the invisible phantom. I go where I want, and none can stop me!”

  Ben said “Where were you sitting? Could you see us?”

  Dunk laughed some more and then was halfway serious. “Relax, Mr. Stuck-Up. I wasn’t at the circus, no. But see, I can get inside your mind any night I want to. All you have to do is fall asleep, and I can send my mind right into your bedroom and crawl through your eardrum and listen.”

  Thickheaded as Dunk could be sometimes, that almost sounded possible to Ben. But he ignored it and took up for Sal. “Dunk, the elephant was kind of sad but she’s not old.”

  Dunk shrugged his shoulders. “Have it your way. Did she tell you any secrets?”

  When his mother was dying and Dunk was so kind, Ben had told him a little about how Hilda had talked to him long ago but wouldn’t speak now. And ever since, if Ben and Dunk disagreed in private, Dunk might bring up that one thing and almost threaten to make fun of it. So now Ben told him “No, Dunk, she didn’t speak. Don’t you think it’s about time we gave up acting like three-year-olds?”

  Dunk thought about that while he finished the last half of his sandwich. Then he took a long gulp of milk, belched loudly, and said “Oh pal, I’ve been a grown man for months now. I’m glad you’ve decided to catch up wi
th me.”

  Ben laughed almost as much as Dunk had before; but when he stood up to head back to class, he didn’t say a word about his afternoon plan.

  By lagging behind at the end of class to talk to Miss Elmers, his art teacher, Ben managed to leave school alone at four o’clock. There would be at least two hours of light before sunset, but he still rode as fast as he could to the fairgrounds. He hid his bike in a clump of low pine trees and walked toward the tent and the few wagons nearby. He was almost there before he saw the first sign of life. He heard it actually—a very deep roar from the only lion. He recalled from last night that it was in the biggest cage, and he walked right toward it.

  Ben was not more than five steps away when he thought the cage might somehow be open. The lion might rush down on him in an instant. But the thought didn’t scare him. Any day before this Ben would have stopped and gone back a safe distance to check. Today for some reason he felt ready to face whatever happened. As he reached the side of the red cage, the lion was right up against the bars, looking out as if he’d expected Ben every minute since last night here at the show. Ben also moved up to the bars and met the lion’s eyes directly. Mostly it’s a bad idea to meet the eyes of any strong creature, wild ones especially. But this was the lion who’d seemed so tame in the show, and the look on his face now seemed to Ben even more peaceful.

  The lion kept his face close, touching the bars; but he lay down flat on his belly and plainly invited Ben to rub his nose and muzzle.

  Tall as he was for his age, Ben’s arm could barely reach high enough to touch the lion. He tried, though, and after he’d lost his balance and fallen against the bars, the lion lowered his enormous head with its golden mane. Ben took a good look and saw how kingly even this cooped-up cat still was. He thought “Please don’t let anything happen now that either one of us regrets.” Then Ben tried again and finally reached the lion. With only a little burst of nerves, Ben patted the lion’s damp nose and the broad dry muzzle that hid the crushing jaws and teeth. He even reached far enough in to scratch the short hair on the back of the lion’s right front paw. It was the size of a normal dinner plate and strong enough to claw down an antelope or zebra on the plains or a human being taller than Benjamin Barks or anyone he knew. Yet here it was letting him actually touch that paw at the end of a strong leg—a grand wild thing.